I noticed this muffled music coming from near the maple in my back yard and traced it to a fist-sized bottomless hole. There are voices, Bill Murray and this squeaky laugh --- actually two squeaky laughs ... one is a lot clearer. It belongs to Diablo, my resident tree rat.

This guy follows me around the flower beds and cuts the heads off my newly planted Crocosmia and places them neatly next to the bulb --- that's his signature.

I try to catch him, but the fist-size holes are too numerous and sometimes, if I'm not careful, I'll get caught ankle-deep in one ... as I fall to the ground, I can see the furry tail scurrying away and hear that squeaky laugh.

He's working on denuding my copper beech now ... the ground is littered with new buds he's snipped off, with no other seeming purpose but to annoy me. He sits up in the branches, just out of reach, taunting me.

Yesterday, I put out plastic Easter eggs for my granddaughter to find and sat waiting in the front yard for her arrival. As I'm looking in the direction of their arrival, Diablo runs across the lawn carrying an egg almost the size of his body and pauses by the tree at the curb. I rush after him, he drops the egg ... but too late ... he's already gnawed thru the plastic to get to the candy inside.

I'm planning a trip to the Bronx Zoo to see if I can coax that cobra to make another field trip --- wish me well.